Once again the heat is cooking my brain inside my head. Even the nocturnal cooling is not sufficient to get it working again. So I sit here trying to think with a head full of mush and a stomach that feels as though a poodle burrowed into it and died and the cadaver is bloating up. This is no way to live, but there's no end to it in sight. Today is supposed to get up to 98 degrees, and is the coolest day in the two-week forecast. If I had any sense I'd have let the coronavirus kill me.
The crickets are closer tonight, though, and have been chirping merrily. I'm going to sit in the back yard and listen to them for a while before eating my second-to-last chunk of chocolate and trying to get to sleep. I doubt I'll be getting to Trader Joe's to get another chocolate bar anytime soon. Just getting the wheelie bin out to the street tonight, and that was after sunset, wore me out. Hey, maybe the coronavirus did kill me, and I'm in hell. That would explain a lot.